


Sea Goggles

by smallburrito



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Sailing, Seasickness, eventual serpent cheryl, penelope gets what she deserves, young endeavour
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 09:24:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15336825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallburrito/pseuds/smallburrito
Summary: Cheryl's mum sends her on a sailing trip as a form of rehab. Coincidentally, Toni wins a scholarship for the same voyage. Neither is too pleased to have the other on board. They vow to totally ignore and avoid one another for the whole journey - but as they soon come to realise, there's no personal space on a tallship.





	Sea Goggles

Breakfast in the Blossom household had never been a particularly pleasant event.

Ever since Jason died, a restless anxiety, like something colossal and foreboding left ominously unspoken, had existed whenever the family were together in the same room. With Clifford gone, the dissonance between Cheryl and her mother had become even more pronounced. And now, after her stint in the river, after the episode that ended with Thornhill going up in flames on that fateful winter’s night - the air between the women was so heavy, so suffocating, that Cheryl sometimes felt like she was trapped under the ice again, inches from a lonely and unforgiving death.

Penelope stared at her daughter - a cold, calculating look, not a speck of the familial warmth one would generally expect to see in a mother’s eyes, especially given they were all one another had left. Cheryl sipped her tea and carefully turned the page of yesterday's _Riverdale Register,_ avoiding her mother’s eyes, completely ignoring her presence - just as she always did.

She scanned the newsprint. Fred Andrews was expected to make a full recovery, and Keller was calling for any and all information on potential suspects. There was a brief article on the fire: at present it was being treated as “not suspicious” - most likely thanks to her threatening of Penelope at the hospital. She turned the page again. An ad about some gala thing for the SoDale development next month. A story praising the efforts of Betty Cooper in the retro night at Pops. Of course that girl would get a full-page spread, what with her mother being the editor and all.

Casting her eyes to the next article, she read that a South Side girl had won some kind of a sailing scholarship with the US Navy. A “youth development voyage,” the Register called it. It seemed that the kid wasn’t even any _good_ at sailing, or interested in a naval career, they just gave it to her because of her “disadvantaged background”. Cheryl rolled her eyes and sighed in exasperation. Why did poor kids get so much free shit? It’s not like they ever actually did anything to deserve it. From what she could gather, this girl had been chosen simply because she was the only kid on the South Side who wasn’t a total drug-addicted waste of space. Well, apart from Jughead, she supposed, but his father’s imprisonment would likely have rendered the boy ineligible. She closed the paper, finished her tea, and left for school.

 

***

 

“I’m tired of your bullshit,” Penelope drawled, voice still raw from the burns she’d sustained in the fire. Cheryl had just walked in the door and there her mother was, standing in the living room, hands on hips. There was an acidic quality to Penelope’s words that made even the Head Bitch In Charge a little nervous about what would come next.

Cheryl studied her cautiously, eyebrows raised in confusion. She didn’t let the anxiety show through. “But mother,” she began innocently. “What have I-”

“Hermione Lodge just called. Told me what happened at Sweetwater River. Really, Cheryl - _suicide?_ That was your imbecilic father’s way out. You’re better than that. I think you need some time to reflect on everything that’s happened and consider the… _consequences_ your actions have for our reputation, for the very integrity of the Blossom name.”

“Mother, what on earth are you _talking_ about?” Cheryl was confused, and although she wouldn’t admit it, scared. Now Penelope knew everything, there was no telling what she would do, how she’d punish her.

“You’re going to California,” Penelope said flatly.

“What?”

“That boat, the one that South Side girl’s going on, I’ve booked you a place.”

“You’re… sending me on a cruise?”

“Oh no. It’s not a cruise, honey.” Penelope clarified, her face cold and hard as if carved from stone. “You’ll actually have to work, for once in your life.”

“You expect me to… to _work,_ on… on a _boat_? When I’ve lived my whole life without ever even seeing the freaking _ocean_!? I’m sorry mother, but you must be _insane_ to think I’m going to agree to that.

“Oh, I’m not asking you to agree, Cheryl.” Penelope’s expression grew colder still. “You’re going. There’s no question about it.”

Cheryl rolled her eyes. She knew the argument was already lost.

“Fine, mother.” she spat. “How long do I have?”

“You leave tomorrow.”

 

***

 

The airport was all but deserted when she arrived. It was early morning, still dark, and her breath formed clouds in the crisp winter air as she stepped out of the taxi and onto the kerb. She’d flown before - what kind of person with her family’s kind of money hadn’t? - but never alone. She felt out of place, a sensation amplified by the fact the voyage rules stated she had to show up in a polo shirt with the ship’s logo printed on the front. As a general rule, polo shirts lay well outside the spectrum of Cheryl’s aesthetic. To her, the dark blue cotton might as well have been a prison uniform. In the rush to leave, she hadn’t had the time to don her regular mask of cosmetics, and the packing limits prevented her from bringing any makeup with her. Withoutthe armour of designer labels and hard red lipstick, she felt naked, vulnerable. Yet, she reminded herself, she would be away from Penelope. And that alone would be reason enough to stick it out. Hell, maybe she’d get the other kids wrapped around her finger just like she had at school, maybe she’d orchestrate a mutiny, maybe she’d never come home… but no. The serpent girl would never side with her. She’d whisper rumours in their ears, turn them against her. If there was to be a mutiny, Cheryl Blossom would never be chosen as the leader - she’d be the one to walk the plank.

Her mother’s parting words echoed in her ears. _For God’s sake, make sure you come back a better person,_ she’d said. _And don’t you dare fuck this up by missing your flight._

Within ten minutes, she was checked into the flight and shepherded through security to the mall on the other side, which seemed equally deserted. The fluorescent lights above flickered ever so slightly, and the retail workers appeared to be in some kind of daze, staring off into the distance with blank faces and empty eyes. Cheryl didn’t blame them, honestly. She glanced at one of the dozens of ominously ticking clocks that lined the halls of the liminal maze that imprisoned her - the flight didn’t leave for another hour and a half.

Should she shop around for a bit? It may have been a ridiculous hour, but at least the shops were open. Perhaps she should seek out some form of breakfast - who knew what the food on the ship would be like? Or should she simply find her way to the gate now and just sleep until it was time to board?

The majority of the shops didn’t exactly appear to be offering ship-friendly wares. Designer fashion, for the most part - something she had more than enough of already. The only other non-food store was a newsagency, the stock-standard airport variety, with all the normal papers and stationery plus extra aisles for books and pharmaceuticals.

 _Perhaps I’ll buy a book to read on the flight,_ Cheryl thought. She made a beeline for the book aisle and surveyed the available titles. A dozen cheap crime novels, two dozen tacky romances, a couple of self-help books aimed at serious business types. Deciding she’d rather tolerate some cheesy love story than put up with another mundane, male-dominated detective plot, she chose one of the romances - a book of medium-thickness with a nondescript white girl in a cowboy hat on the cover. Country chick-lit was, to Cheryl at least, usually less nauseating than the Real Houswives-esque city variety. She didn’t need to _read_ that kind of stuff, she _lived_ it.

As she made her way to the counter, her expression soured when she noticed the pink-haired South Side girl being served before her, buying some kind of medication. She was wearing the same blue shirt. Cheryl tried to avoid eye contact. It didn’t work.

“Wow, what’s the Northside queen bee doing here? Private jet break down? Off to some snobby little tropical resort to escape the cold, escape your conscience? ”

“Not quite, but at least I have a conscience, unlike you snake people,” Cheryl spat. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. She didn’t want to be here at all.

“Normally I’d hit you for dissing the Serpents like that, but it’s early in the morning so I’ll let you off. You flying to California too?”

“That’s none of your business,” the redhead snapped.

“Jeez, okay,” the Southsider put her hands up in surrender. “I mean you clearly must be, since it’s kinda the only flight out of this joint before lunch. Also, the shirt gives it away. But fine, stick to your elitist ways. You’re gonna be pretty fucking lonely on the ship though, let me tell you.”

Cheryl turned on her heel (a more difficult exercise than usual given the voyage’s requirement of “practical footwear” included a blanket ban on stilettos) and left the store. She didn’t need the book anyway.

 

***

 

The plane was in the air. It wasn’t long before the seatbelt sign pinged off and the staff began to prepare the food cart for its journey up the aisle.

Cheryl studied the menu, a beaten up cardboard thing with small variety and large price tags. Chips. Sandwich. Peanuts. Another flavour of chips. Coffee. Wine. Eggs.

In other words, junk. The chips would be stale, the coffee would be instant, and she didn’t want to even think about the eggs. Only the wine seemed even mildly appetising - and what the hell, she was already suffering, why not order a goddamn glass of wine? It wasn’t as if the stewardess was asking any of the _other_ passengers for photo ID, so why would they ask her? She certainly _looked_ 21.

“Anything to eat or drink?” the stewardess said when she reached Cheryl’s row.

“Peanuts, thanks,” said the elderly man to her left, reaching into his pocket and producing a crumpled ten dollar bill that looked as old as he was. The stewardess took the cash, in return giving the man a small bag of peanuts and three dollars change.

“And for you?”

“A glass of wine, thanks.” she said, hoping she came across confident enough that the stewardess wouldn’t suspect her of being underage, wouldn’t ask her for an ID she didn’t possess. She held her breath as she waited for a response.

“Twelve dollars,” the stewardess replied.

“Do you take card?” queried Cheryl, relieved.

“Sure,” said the stewardess, producing an eftpos machine. Cheryl swiped her card and entered her pin as the stewardess poured the wine. She handed the glass to Cheryl and moved on to the next line of passengers. She’d succeeded. She’d gotten away with it. Even if she wasn’t given freedom of choice to take this vacation, she’d sure as hell try to take advantage of the small liberations that came with it.

***

After clearing customs Cheryl found herself on a vast concrete platform with hundreds of other travellers awaiting various cabs, buses, and Ubers. Thankfully, she’d managed to lose the pink-haired girl in the terminal and didn’t have to deal with her for the time being. She hailed a cab and directed the driver to the wharf. Conversation was minimal. She paid and stepped out of the cab onto the sidewalk beside the wharf buildings, the unsightly large backpack that was ship’s crew regulation weighing her down and giving her a tortoiselike appearance. Cheryl pulled a map from her pocket (the ship banned phones, too) and oriented herself. The stupid boat was only a block away.

She came to the end of the dilapidated line of buildings and there it was, tied up on the long timber wharf, bobbing ever so slightly in the harbour’s gentle swell. The ship. It was… smaller than she’d expected. Newer, too. Judging by the description she’d been anticipating some colossal, rickety, old wooden pirate-style ship. Instead, the vessel that awaited her was a more modern contraption, its steel hull painted a deep navy blue, sides lined with gunnels of dark polished wood. The two towering masts were white steel, with ladders of knotted rope ascending from the deck to meet the forward of the two. A golden plaque adorned the bow, bearing the ship’s name: _STS Young Endeavour._ At present, all the sails were furled.

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” came a voice from beside Cheryl. She turned and was surprised to see a boy standing next to her. He was tall and muscular, with a rugged-looking beard. He wore a red flannel shirt over a polo like hers and carried an identical bag.

“Sorry?” she said, confused.

“The ship. The _Young Endeavour._ I’m guessing you’re gonna be on the voyage too?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Whatever.” The boy walked off.

As the minutes went on, more people in blue polo shirts amassed on the wharf. They milled about like cattle, conversing with one another, speculating about the journey ahead. After she’d snubbed the bearded boy, nobody bothered to approach Cheryl. Not even the Serpent girl when she arrived.

Soon enough, the call came to board the ship. Half a dozen naval officers shepherded the teenagers up the gangway and onto the deck. The deck itself looked fairly new and clean; perhaps conditions on board wouldn’t be quite as bad as Cheryl had feared.

***

She was wrong. They were worse. They’d begun by welcoming everyone aboard and giving some bullshit speech about the ways that sailing was supposed to build character and help overcome adversity, then they’d sorted the crew into groups called watches. Cheryl had ended up in the Red Watch - and so had the Southsider, Toni. She was also stuck with Jared, the boy from the pier who turned out to be as naive as he was muscular, as well as a footballer type named Josh who reminded her far too much of a certain Reggie Mantle, and a frivolous goth girl named Keely who had yet to say a single word. Certainly a far cry from her usual clique.

After the introductions, their watch leader - a tall, brawny black guy named Todd- led the way below deck to assign the bunks.

Everything was so… dated. It wasn’t like Cheryl had arrived at the wharf expecting any post-19th-century luxuries, but after seeing the ship’s exterior she’d more than gotten her hopes up. They were quashed once more when she stepped through the hatch and seemingly into the early 1970s. Everything was vinyl and cheap timber, the only exceptions being the postage-stamp kitchen and the heavy door to the engine room, both an equally uncultured brushed steel. The floor was a mint green linoleum, scattered with the outlines and handles of various storage hatches. It wasn’t just the kitchen that was undersized, Todd had to duck his head to avoid the top of the door and the maze of pipes that crisscrossed the white steel ceiling. Once they’d descended, he led the teenagers down a narrow hallway, pointing out a pair of even narrower doors as the boys’ rooms.

“Jared, you’re on starboard side in bunk four. Josh, you’re bunk number one on port. You can grab your bags from up on deck and stick them in there now if you like.”

The boys nodded and split from the group to inspect their lodgings whilst the girls followed Todd further toward the bow of the ship, passing doors to the bathrooms (Cheryl shuddered to think what they would be like), and various storerooms before arriving at a door beside which a jumble of raincoats hung on hooks on the wall.

“And you girls are in here, bunks two, six, and seven.” As Todd listed the numbers, he pointed to Keely, Toni, and Cheryl respectively. _Great,_ thought the latter. She was going to have to _sleep_ next to the Serpent too. A part of her wondered whether her wicked mother had orchestrated the arrangements as such.

“We’re all in the same room?” asked Toni, raising her eyebrows at Todd.

“All the girls are together,” the naval officer explained. “The room sleeps twelve. It’ll seem a bit crowded at first but you’ll get used to it soon enough. We don’t lump all the boys together because honestly, could you imagine the smell if we did?”

Toni laughed - she seemed fine with this cattle-like arrangement. Cheryl objected. “But, _sir_ , what about privacy? Surely you don’t expect all of us to be comfortable with _eleven_ total strangers sharing our space, watching us change, watching us sleep!?”

Todd smiled and shook his head. “As you’ll soon come to understand, there’s no personal space on a tallship.”

Cheryl glared at him.

“Come on, I’m not a _total_ stranger,” Toni half-smiled, attempting to console her.

“Shut up, snake,” the redhead snapped. Keely had already disappeared through the door, and without another word the Riverdale girls followed suit.


End file.
